How Far Would You Go?
by emeyers
Summary: AU  In Jeremy Gilbert's mind anything supernatural related doesn't exist, including vampires, werewolves, and witches. With the entrance of Damon Salvatore, however, all that changes as he's proof that vampires are indeed real.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings**: Slash, Nonrelated, and Implied Character Death

**Disclaimer**: Nothing that you recognize belongs to me.

**Note**: Please note this story's history will be different from _The Vampire Diaries_ TV show.

_Prologue_

_Florence, Italy 1840_

Pounding footsteps shatter the silence.

Though I don't need to, I step back into the shadows, recline against a nearby tree, and wait. After all this time, the moment I've anticipated has finally arrived. Seconds later, Damon, the eldest son of Giuseppe Salvatore, races into view. Clumps of his hair lie plastered to his forehead with sweat. Nearby an owl hoots and crickets cease their chirping. Panting hard, Damon raises his lantern higher and floods the darkened forest with a large, yellow circle of light, his own eyes wide and frantic. As he searches the area, the scuffling of his shoes and his unanswered cries of Jeremiah, where are you? Jeremiah, answer me! echo into the night. I remain hidden and my lips curl into a sneer. You're too late, Damon, I think to myself. Jeremiah's already dead.

Damon, his steps cautious, ventures farther into the woods. At the sight of the dangling body, his expression twists into one of pain. With his head bent at an unnatural angle, hands bound behind his back, and a rope coiled around his neck, my brother, Jeremiah's body swings from side to side. Cursing, Damon rushes forward, cutting the cords and lowering his body to the ground before he himself collapses to his knees. Angrily, he pries off the noose and fingers the raw, red imprints on Jeremiah's corpse. A loud, anguished scream fills the area. Disturbed by the noise, crows, roosting in the above trees, take wing into the sky. Damon ignores them, cradling his dead lover against his chest and rocking back and forth, whispered denials spilling from his lips.

He should've chosen me.

The blinding rage simmering in my chest is replaced with a swell of satisfaction. If Damon had noticed and returned my affections then I wouldn't have resorted to my previous actions. Though the son of a wealthy wine merchant and aware of his social status, Damon, once he met and fell for my brother, a servant, like myself, at the Salvatore manor, decided to forfeit his duties. When he sent that letter and asked Jeremiah to meet him tonight so they could escape Italy together, he forced my hand.

It was Damon's fault.

Yet, with my brother out of the way now, I can offer Damon the greatest gift imaginable: immortality. If he accepts, he can experience unimaginable speed, strength, and agility as well as heightened senses, accelerated healing, and durability but most of all immortality. No longer bound by the rules and limitations of our society, together Damon and I could do and go wherever we wanted.

Nothing but our own expectations can hold us back.

Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I take a deep breath before assuming the role of a distraught brother. If I want to win Damon's affections, then I need to make this believable. After backing up several paces, careful of my footing as I don't wish to alert Damon of my presence yet, I rush forward, my usual light, quiet steps now loud and harsh. I head towards Damon's lantern and then skitter to a stop, gasping and my expression morphing into one of stricken horror at the sight of Damon hugging Jeremiah's lifeless body close.

Puffy, red eyes stare at me as he whispers my name. "He's dead," Damon says his voice thick and hoarse.

I drop to my knees and run my fingers over my brother's cheek, feeling the stiffness of Jeremiah's cheek and realizing the process of rigor mortis has begun.

"Damon, I…" I swallow as I lift and lock gazes with him. "I know who killed Jeremiah."

His expression hardens and his lips peel back, a snarl erupting from his throat. "Tell me," he says his tone low with restrained rage. His knuckles turn a stark white as he clutches Jeremiah tighter.

"Your father…he…he found out about your relationship with Jeremiah and how you wanted to leave tonight. He forged your signature and sent him another note asking him to meet here instead of your previous location." Damon's eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together, his breathing heavy. After a moment's hesitation, I lift my hand and lay it on his shoulder, massaging the skin. He stares at me with an unreadable expression. Hopefully someday soon, he'll look at me the same way he saw Jeremiah. "You want to avenge my brother and make your father pay. You want to make sure he dies a slow, painful death and denial him the mercy that he refused Jeremiah, right?" He nods with an expression eager. "There is a way and I'm offering it to you."

"I'll do whatever it takes. He took Jeremiah from me. I'm taking his life."

At those words, I scoot even closer. "This will hurt."

Without waiting for a response, I lung forward and sink my fangs into his neck.

**Author's Note**: Stay tuned because chapter one will be posted within the next few moments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings**: Slash, Nonrelated, Language, Age Difference, Graphic & Rough Sex, Vampires/Werewolves, and Reincarnation

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, though I do own the town, Havenwood and the colleges Oakfell and Beau Monde University.

**Note**: The public transportation described in this story is based on both the California Bart system and the light rail operating system in Virginia known as _The Tide_. Since _The Tide_ doesn't open till August 19, 2011, that part of this story will be futurist.

Please note this story's history will be different from _The Vampire Diaries_ TV show. Damon and Stefan are still brothers, Elena and Jeremy are siblings and not cousins, and Jeremy's best friends are Tyler, Caroline, and Bonnie. All the other details will be explained during the course of the story.

_Part One_

_Havenwood, Virginia 2011_

I hate riding the subway.

It's a sweaty, uncomfortable atmosphere where people, during morning and evening rush hour commutes, battle for a seat; for those who aren't quick enough, they receive the jostling experience of struggling to keep their balance while the train travels between different stations and picks up more and more passengers. Since my courses end before three and I drive, I'm able to escape this problem. Unfortunately, my car's at my mechanic's for the next two days because it needs a new fuel pump. With none of my friends enrolled in the same classes as me at Oakfell University, I'm left with only one option: public transit.

I hate relying on others for rides.

According to the online light rail schedule, if I catch the bus that leaves campus at 3:15, I can just catch the 3:29 train and arrive home between five and half passed five. That's doesn't sound so bad. However, for whatever reason, the bus driver today—maybe he's new and still learning the route—was late, which resulted in me missing my train and forced me to wait an extra forty-five minutes, because of construction delays. To top it all off it's raining and I forgot my umbrella.

Needless to say, I'm pissed.

Groaning, I tug my jacket tighter and wince as the wet material sticks to my skin. I cup my hands and breathe into them, enjoying the brief, warm puffs of air but they do little to chase away my chill. With the few wooden benches already occupied, I lean against the cement escalator barrier and shrug my backpack on to the ground. An older man with thinning salt and pepper hair rushes passed me, his black trench coat flapping in the wind as he stares down at his Blackberry and moves his stilis over the screen in rapid hast. To the right, I glimpse a few classmates I've seen around campus clustered together; one of the girls, a petite brunette, flashes me a seductive grin. Ignoring her flirtation, I notice a young Asian woman sitting with her arms wrapped around her daughter's waist and struggling to keep her warm. Petite Brunette, not one for subtle hints, gravitates towards me, her hips swaying in a provocative manner that does little to attract me. Aside from being gay, desperate girls were always a major turn off. I check my watch and sigh. Where is that damn train?

Seconds later, it pulls into the station while the overhead loudspeaker announces its arrival. My sigh of relief is echoed. Grabbing my backpack, I hurry towards the platform and hiss at the whoosh of frigid air slamming into me as the train streaks by. I bite my lip. All seven cars are jammed full!

This is going to be a fun ride home.

Petite Brunette, failing to catch my eye, returns to her friends, her expression soured by my rejection. With her wet and low cut shirt and form fitting jeans though, I'm sure she'll find some other lucky bastard to follow her home.

Squeezing my way into the crowd of bodies, I secure a spot over by the door and set down my bag, grateful for the heat; yet, it's almost suffocating from all the smells of different body odors combining with the aromas of fried chicken, takeout Chinese containers, and musty clothes.

Sighing, I fish out my iPod, plug the headphones in to my ears, and adjust the volume before staring at the dark, gray sky and splatters of rain clinging to the windows; the windblown drops ooze across the panes. Watery, distorted landscapes of overgrown trees race by. While traveling alongside the I-250 highway, I glimpse the traffic congestion, multiple rows of blinding headlights stringing far into the distance and people's windshield wipers flapping back and forth as drivers maneuver their cars into another lane with abrupt haste.

With a deep breath, I close my eyes and lounge against the wall, longing for the comfort of my home. Once clad in dry clothes, I plan on lying in bed for the rest of the evening, my favorite book and a fresh, steaming cup of hot chocolate on my bedside dresser. A smile touches my lips when my imagination shifts and I can almost feel the telltale dipping of the mattress as my boyfriend slides in beside me, wrapping his arms around my waist, tugging me closer, and kissing my throat.

The train lurches to a stop.

My daydream shatters as I stumble forward into some guy's back. Picking myself up, I mutter an apology.

"Well nothing's broken and I'm not dead, so," the man turns and leans towards me, finishing in a sarcastic whisper, "I don't have to kill you."

I know that voice.

Eyes wide, my head snaps up and my mouth drops in shock; what's _he_ doing here? As if reading my thoughts, the corner of his mouth twists into a smirk as he stares at me, several dark strands hanging down and teasing the tops of his thick eyebrows. He's wearing his preferred black, leather jacket along with his dark-wash jeans and a long-sleeve, black shirt.

This journey home just got more interesting.

At the next violent stop, I grip the tanned strap above my head, swing my body to the side, and allow it to brush against Leather Jacket. With inhuman reflexes, a pair of cool hands seizes my arms and steadies me before his lips hover next to my ear.

"I'm too old for you." I cast a quick glance at him. Despite being a good two feet taller, he looks no older than his mid twenties. I happen to know, however, that he's much older. "See something you like?" Amused, brown eyes stare at me.

I lick my lips and nod. Another sharp turn throws us together. I groan, hooking my fingers through his pant loops and drawing him closer.

"I love it when there's a challenge," I say in a soft tone, leaning against the immobile door and gazing up at Leather Jacket, my expression smug.

"You play with fire and you're going to get burned." He settles himself between my legs and grips my thighs in a tight, possessive grasp.

Wetting my lips, I grin when I notice that everyone else seems preoccupied with their newspapers or book reading, their phone conversations, or their blaring iPods. "Are you going to burn me?" I ask, clutching Leather Jacket's coat and tugging him even closer.

"Don't start something you can't finish."

At the on-board operator's voice announcing my destination and cutting off my response, I release my hold and slip away from Leather Jacket, hoisting my backpack up onto my shoulder and mimicking his earlier smirk.

"Better luck next time, mister."

With a wink, I follow the throng of people out of the train, down the escalator, and swipe my card, passing through the turn style and running towards yet another bus, my lips pinched in a thin line of annoyance. At least this driver is doing his job by being on time. Hugging my jacket closer, I dodge the rain as much as possible. After boarding and paying my fare, I grab a seat in the back, dig out my Shakespeare book, and spend the next twenty minutes deciphering _Romeo and Juliet_. However, unbidden images of the game that Leather Jacket and I played earlier flash through my memory. What I wouldn't give for that fly-on-the-wall ability to have seen his expression when I left. I chuckle to myself before refocusing on my studies. When my thoughts wander for the third time, I shut my textbook with sigh, massage my forehead, and wish Shakespearean dialect wasn't so difficult to understand. Why couldn't his characters just say what they really thought instead of using that flowering language that makes girls giggle and swoon?

About ten minutes later, I arrive at my stop, retrieve my backpack, and weave my way through the tight sea of passengers. Once free, I jog towards my apartment and climb the two flights of stairs, veering to the right and walking down an outside hallway, my soaked shoes squeaking with every step. Pausing at room 310C, I dig my hand into my pocket only for my fingers to close around air. Panic courses through me; promptly I search the rest of my other pockets. Please tell me I didn't forget my keys too! After giving my backpack and jacket another thorough checking, I straighten up and smack my forehead, recalling how Leather Jacket flattened his chest against mine while his hands rested on my thighs.

He pick pocketed my keys.

With a loud sigh, I slam my first against my door. It flies open and a hand shoots out, grabbing my shirt and yanking me inside. The door clicks shut and I grunt from the force of being slammed against it and Leather Jacket pressing into me.

"Damon," I say.

"Hello, Jeremy," he says, his trademark smirk tattooed on his face. "It took you long enough."

I shake my head with an affectionate roll of my eyes. "Human, Damon. I don't have your vampiric speed." Chuckling, I start to wrap my arms around his neck only for him to capture my wrists and trap them above my head. "What's got you so frisky?"

"You know damn well what!" He transfers both my wrists into one hand and slides his other one down, stroking my chest and then teasing my quickly awakening cock. "You're well aware of what those moves on the subway do to me."

"I thought you'd like them." I spread my legs and thrust up into him.

"Don't you dare start anything you can't finish, Jeremy."

"When have I never followed through?" He shakes his head and groans, bending his head down and nuzzling my neck. An involuntary whimper escapes my lips. "So what are you waiting for…unless you can't keep up, _old man_?"

His fangs descending, Damon's eyes flash a bright red before he scoops me up and drags me to my room, kicking my door shut, tossing me on the bed, and straddling my hips.

"What have I told you about teasing a horny vampire?"

"I'm not getting any younger, Damon."

His hands grip my shirt and the whines of material tearing fill the air. I bend my head back and groan as he rips off the rest of our clothes. With his legs on either side of my hips, he anchors me in place and hovers above me, pressing forward; his cock nudges against my entrance. I whimper again and bite my lower lip at his taunting, my hips bucking up against him.

"Please, Damon…_please_!"

Shifting closer, he pries my knees farther apart; at the stretch, my eyes widen and I gasp at how open I feel. Without warning, Damon slams inside. Countless screams of pleasure erupt from my throat as I throw my head back and my hands claw at the sheets in search of something to hold. Each thrust I feel him penetrating deeper and pumping in and out of me with impressive speed. Before long, he seizes and pins my arms above my head. His lips latch onto my throat, sucking and biting. I wrap my legs around him as my hips move in desperate attempts to keep up before surrendering to his pace. At my submission, Damon bares his fangs and growls, driving into me deeper, harder, and faster. I groan and arch up again, straining towards him and flicking my tongue over one taunt nipple. He moans and angles his hips until I'm a whimpering mess beneath him as he targets my prostate.

Beads of sweat prickle my forehead as I lie there panting, gasping, and grunting from the sheer force of his pace; my cock twitches and stiffens even more when I glance up and witness the possessive look on his face as he stares down at me. Seconds later, his rhythm grows sloppier and jerkier. He's close. When I feel that familiar tension coiling in my stomach, our gazes lock and that alone pushes me over the edge. Halfway through my release, he cries out my name before collapsing on top of me, his hips pulsing into mine with small, erratic jerks.

With a groan, I slump against the pillows and close my eyes, still shaking from the after effects; no matter how many times we're together, he always leaves me breathless. Once I calm down, I blink my eyes open and smile up at him.

"Hey there, baby boy," he says softly, leaning forward and kissing my nose.

"Wow!"

He chuckles before easing off me. I whine in protest, my body pliant as he lifts me up and carries me into the adjoining bathroom where he switches on the shower. Setting me against the sink, I grip the edges and wince as the cold porcelain touches my skin, watching him adjust the water levels. When he announces it's ready, I test my legs and when they support my weight, I shuffle over into the shower stall and groan at the warm spray hitting my back. Damon slips in behind me and I lean back against his chest, my eyes shut; he knows me so well.

After washing each other's hair, he shuts off the shower head and grabs two towels. Once dry, we venture back into my room. While I change, he strips off the soiled sheets and carries them over to the laundry room. He returns a short time later and helps me put on clean ones. Overhead, the patter of heavy rain echoes on the roof tiles while thunder roars in the distance; flashes of lightning flare across the sky. Reflections of the branches scrapping against the windows shadow dance along curtains. Grateful that we're both home, I slide under my comforter and fit myself into my boyfriend's side; his arm wraps around my waist and his fingers tickle the base of my neck.

Ironically, my evident dislike of public transportation played a catalyst in guiding Damon and me together. Before I purchased my current car, I rode the subway to and from school every day. Although I noticed and spent a fair amount of my ride home studying him, I never had the guts to approach him. Whenever he glanced over in my direction, rather than acknowledge him, I ducked my head like some schoolgirl with a crush.

I was quite pathetic actually.

About a week later, while I was "reading," some kid shoved passed me in his haste to transfer trains and sent me toppling into Damon. Though I apologized, for the rest of the trip I felt him eyeing me. I thought for sure he'd be gone the following day but like clockwork he was there. In fact, he weaved his way through the sea of bodies and began a conversation with me. I lost track of time and it wasn't until his playful, "Planning on bringing me home?" that I recognized my destination. Before I left, he snagged my arm and tugged me backwards, his fingers slipping something into my pocket.

"The name's Damon, by the way," he whispered in my ear.

Without waiting for a reply, he vanished. I frowned before reaching into my pocket and retrieving a piece of paper with his phone number. Needless to say, I called him. We met up a few more times, our casual meeting for drinks escalating into hanging out, then a lunch date, followed by a dinner date, and ending with an exclusive relationship.

It almost scared me how fast things progressed between us—how much control he held over me; though we've never met before, there was just something about him that attracted me—something familiar—almost like we knew each other in another life. However, as we spent more time together, I also sensed a difference about him compared to my previous boyfriends. While I couldn't pinpoint how or why, I just knew it was true.

Four months ago I learned the why.

He's a 171 year-old vampire.

At first I didn't know what to believe; vampires weren't real. They were fictional characters created by authors as marketing ploys to prey on young girls' secret desires and fantasies. If you could classify dating an undead corpse as romantic! Me, on the other hand, I'm the type of person who lived in reality; though I do enjoy occasional trips into the fabricated realms of myths and legends.

My skepticism aside, the more I interacted with Damon, the more aware I became of certain other characteristics; for example, his cold skin, his lack of aging, and his inhuman strength and speed. Though I could explain those details and back them up with logic, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't justify his quick ability to heal moments after cutting himself. Something like that wasn't possible…not for a human anyway. Left with no other choice, I couldn't deny the truth anymore.

Vampires did indeed exist.

I was dating one!

My new found knowledge took some adjustment and Damon exercised lots of patience with my infant understanding. After spending copious amounts of time googling vampires and sifting through several websites about vampire lore, I gave up trying to separate fact from fantasy and went to Damon for my answers. According to him, the Hollywood portrayal of vampires, as is often the case, was exaggerated. While they are lethal and able to kill, most vampires aren't the bloodthirsty, grotesque monsters depicted in movies such as _Bram Stroker's Dracula, Lost Boys, Interview with a Vampire, Queen of the Damned, _and_ Nosferatu_. As long as they maintained healthy diets of blood, they could function and eat like regular humans. Enchanted rings and/or necklaces protected them from the fatal sunlight.

To be honest, the thought of passing a vampire on the street, going to school or even working with one was a bit disconcerting. Stuff like this only happened in movies and books or so I once believed. People have always claimed there was a thin line separating reality and fantasy.

I wonder if they knew how right they were.

Once comfortable with vampires existing, I decided to introduce Damon to my three closest friends: Tyler Lockwood, Caroline Forbes, and Bonnie Bennett. Because of my blatant disregard for anything paranormal or supernatural, most of my friends' discussions revolving around those topics occurred after I left, which never bothered me. Although confident my friends would have no trouble accepting Damon, I wasn't too sure how to break the news of my recent conversion from a non vampire believer to a believer to them. I'll probably end up referencing my relationship with Damon as a springboard for that subject.

After calling them, they all agreed to meet up at The Grotto, a secluded, forest alcove that Tyler and I stumbled upon during a hiking trip. Since then, it's become our secret place, where we went when we needed an escape. A large oak tree, planted near the river bank, provided shady comfort in the summer months. Not long after we claimed and cleared out the weeds, Tyler attached a rope swing to one of the oak branches hanging over the water and taught me several different tricks. Periodically Bonnie or Caroline joined us, but for the most part both girls preferred to lie on their towels and work on their tans. Caroline, with her Snow White complexion, I could understand her motives but since Bonnie's already dark-skinned, I didn't understand her obsession with sunbathing. Figuring it was a girl thing, I stopped asking. During the school year, unless it rained, it became tradition for the four of us to meet there after school. Tyler and I even constructed a wooden picnic table so we had a place to sit and either eat or work on our homework or in my case, draw.

The following day Damon drove us to Havenwood Park. After locking his car, we headed towards a wooden post with an arrow pointing at a dirt covered path with two, thick beds of lush, green ferns flanked its sides. Kids laughed as they played on a nearby playground, some racing each other either down the slides or across the monkey bars while others sat on the swings and begged to go higher. As rays of sunlight broke through the trees and speckled the ground with leafy shadows, a slight breeze whispered through the area, blowing my hair about my face and rustling the leaves. Above squirrels scampered across the branches, their high-pitched chattering grew louder as their bushy tails twitched. While I admired my surroundings, Damon came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest, holding me against him. I tucked my head underneath his chin and enjoyed the brief rest before we continued our hike.

About halfway, Damon and I veered off the main track and ventured into the brush where we found and followed a less-traveled route. I winced as the dry leaves and stray rocks crunched under my feet, a sharp contrast to Damon's silent and nonexistent steps. By the time we arrived, everyone else was already there. Sensing my nervousness, Damon slipped my hand through his and offered me a reassuring smile before tugging me forward. Tyler spotted us first and his eager wave jerked to a stop. His forehead wrinkled and his nostrils flared as if smelling rotten mayonnaise before his eyes narrowed and his lips curled up in a sneer.

"Stealing from blood banks isn't satisfying to you anymore huh, Damon?" Tyler's gaze focused on my boyfriend's while Damon's face remained neutral. "Now you have to compel and feed on humans?"

I stumbled backwards at his harsh comment. Whoa, back up. How did Tyler and Damon know each other? If they already knew each other, why didn't Damon ever mention that to me?

"Which is worse, mutt? Dating a vampire or lying to your best friend about being a werewolf?"

My eyes widened.

Tyler's a werewolf?

While my boyfriend and best friend ignored my repeated questions of "what's going on" and "what are you talking about," I glanced over at Bonnie and Caroline, hoping they'd fill in the details. Both of them looked away. Perfect. I threw my hands up and sighed. How did this afternoon go from introducing my boyfriend to my three closest friends to learning that said friends were keeping secrets from me?

Was I the only human in our group?

"Somebody better start explaining!" I said, interrupting Tyler and Damon's heated argument, glaring at them, and waiting.

Defeated, Tyler explained how the werewolf gene, passed down from father to son, surfaces between the ages of sixteen and seventeen. Tyler's, however, remained dormant till he turned eighteen. About two weeks before his eighteenth birthday, he grew restless and little mistakes aggravated him even more than usual. Concerned at their son's unnatural behavior, his parents took him to several different doctors and specialists but they all said the same thing: Tyler was healthy. Unfortunately, the last physician discovered something everyone else missed: an amulet buried underneath Tyler's skin.

Though he begged his parents over and over, he couldn't understand their refusal to pay for surgery and remove the charm; money wasn't a problem for their family. Then on the eve of his birthday, under the disguise of visiting relatives, Tyler's cousins, Mason and Jules, showed up and revealed his Lycan heritage, much to his parents' chagrin. Later his parents admitted that after his birth, they paid a surgeon to surgically implant the medallion inside him. Because they didn't want him suffering from Mason and Jules' curse, the amulet acted as a mirror and reflected the moonlight, shielding him from any werewolf effects. Due to his body no longer able to suppress and resist the call of his heritage, the amulet broke down, which explained his recent bouts of anger and agitation. Betrayed, Tyler filed for emancipation and moved out; after his surgical removal of the amulet, he spent the next several months with his cousins and studied the werewolf dos and don'ts.

As I listened, I swallowed hard. He turned eighteen almost three years ago. Now all those lame "excuses" of not being able to hang out and unexplained spikes in his already uncontrollable temper made sense. Bonnie admitted to having always known as she sensed something different inside him but casting a protection spell to save Caroline one night when Tyler changed and couldn't chain himself up in time confirmed her suspicions. Unlike in the films, real-life werewolves weren't limited to only changing on a full moon. As a newbie, Tyler's transformations were unpredictable, but he's learned to control when his shifts occur.

For a moment I didn't say anything. If vampires existed, why not include werewolves and witches too? It was a lot to handle, but as with Damon, I accepted their secrets; yet the gnawing hurt of knowing my friends lied to me for three years stuck with me and made it difficult to trust them again.

Thankfully, the awkwardness soon passed and the four of us rebuilt our close friendship and shared a new level of connection between us. Also it didn't take Caroline and Bonnie long to form the "big brother" link with Damon and though he'll deny it, he's protective of them too. Because of an ancient rivalry between Lycans and vampires, however, Tyler and Damon still despise each other; though they'll tolerate the other for my sake.

Last summer, Matt Donovan, my older sister, Elena's high school boyfriend, visited. He and Elena dated for all four years but parted ways after their graduation ceremony where Elena announced her intentions to study fashion at the Beau Monde University in New York while Matt, his major undeclared, planned on attending the University of Virginia. With their schools at opposite ends of the states, they decided the stress of a long distance relationship would be too hard and separated.

Caroline, who always liked Matt, was thrilled at his presence and encouraged him to join us. For the next two weeks, they spent lots of time together, fueling her secret desire for him to ask her out, which he soon did. They dated for several months, but when it came time for Matt to return to college, he broke up with her, claiming he couldn't continue as a public couple because of her insecure, clingy, and jealousy issues.

Devastated, Caroline ended up crying on Tyler's doorstep, which was how he found her when he returned from an impromptu dinner with his parents. She slept on his couch but after she woke him up twice with her sobs, Tyler got out of bed, went downstairs, joined, and held her for the remainder of the night. Later, he admitted his own feelings for her. To avoid to the whole "rebound" stigma, they hung out and strengthened their friendship before proceeding farther. After a while they fell into a comfortable rhythm, which gravitated into a relationship. Matt, realizing his mistake when he came home for his winter holiday, apologized and begged Caroline to take him back. She refused. Without his connection to her, Matt, squeezed out of our inner circle, disappeared.

It's no great loss either.

During my pre-Damon days, Caroline, Tyler, and even Elena pointed out the chemistry between Bonnie and me. Though she's a woman and I go more for men, I won't deny our reciprocated attraction. Bonnie's beautiful and we toyed with the idea of dating but after she took an anthropology magic, witchcraft, and religion course at Oakfell University, and partnered up with Luca Martin, I knew I never stood a chance. Those two bonded over so much more than just their mutual, magical abilities, which suited me just fine. Besides, three weeks later, I "bumped" into Damon Salvatore.

"What are you thinking about, Jeremy?"

Damon's voice snaps me back to the present and I grin at his opportunistic opening. Ever since he let it slip that he did in fact know me during a different lifetime, I've begged him to tell me about it. Yet, he never does. Hopefully this time will be different.

"I was just thinking about meeting you on the subway, learning about vampires, telling my friends about us, discovering their secrets…" He hums in agreement, removing his fingers from my neck and dropping his hand down to massage my upper arm. Slowly, I trace my fingertip across his chest and smile at the slight rippling of his muscles coupled with a deep groan spilling from his throat. Taking advantage of his distracted state, I continue, "I was also wondering what it must've been like the very first time we met and how many lives we've shared."

"Jeremy." He sighs, his tone sharp and warning.

"Damon, come on," I say and inch closer. "It's not fair that you remember all that and I don't. I know we've shared at least one other life together. Why won't you tell me about it?"

"You're fixating, Jere."

"Damon, please I'm not asking for much." I scoot even closer and press my nose against his neck, nibbling on the skin there. Since he tended to resort to bribery whenever he wanted something from me that I was hesitant to give, I decide to fight fire with fire by straddling his waist and grinding my hips down into his. "Please tell me, Damon?"

He groans. "Since you're pestering me, here see for yourself."

Before I can ask what he means, he presses two of his fingers to my forehead and I slump against his chest, the roller coaster sensation of flying backwards shooting through me. As the familiar background of my bedroom and the comfort of Damon's arms disappear, they're replaced with a black screen of nothing. Then I'm plummeting down, down, down with that same chest-tightening and sickening feeling that people experience whenever they wake up from dreams where they're falling.

Unfortunately for me, this isn't a dream and that means I can't wake up.

**Author's Note**: I'm real excited about this story. Even though I said I wasn't gonna start this story till Open Your Heart to Us ended but I couldn't help myself. Blame it on the little plot bunnies hiding inside my head. :P Please lemme know what you guys think, any questions you mind have, or any ideas you have about what's going to happen later.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everyone,

I'm not sure if you've heard about the new plan on to purge the stories (and accounts apparently) that include stories of a higher rating. Personally I think this is a stupid decision as authors post warnings on their chapters that tell their audience what to expect in the story. The whole point of a "M rating" is for *mature* audiences.

Even though I haven't updated any of my stories recently—I have every intention of doing so. (Just going through a rough patch right now being motivated, especially with what's going on with my mom- )

Apparently there's a site you can go to and sign a petition. I've already done so and I'd like to encourage all of you too. I will post the link on my account page.

However, should anything happen to my account, I would like to share my email address so you guys can contact me if you want me to email you copies and updates of my stories. I will make my email address available on my account page too.

Also, if my account disappears, I found an adult fanfiction site, so I might move there too. If I did, I would keep the same user name: emeyers.

Take care everyone and hopefully I can update all my stories and post some new ones here soon.

~emeyers


End file.
